Malley began tensing his muscles, in case the scientists weren’t persuasive enough. It might buy him some slack—assuming they didn’t notice and also assuming they conveniently wrapped the cord around his bulging biceps and not his wrists. He’d have more confidence in the vid-fantasy trick if he’d tried it before, but being tied up wasn’t one of those things that had happened in his life. Yet. Still, nothing ventured.
Johnson, the FD with the bloody nose, wiped his face with a cloth and eyed the scientists. “Panicked, Dr. Lynn?” he questioned skeptically. “If this is how your friend here reacts to temporary overcrowding, maybe we should trank him instead.”
Before Malley could laugh at this, a new voice intruded, saying: “I’ll watch him.” Sazaad came to loom over Aisha, gazing eye to eye with Malley, his expression unreadable. “There won’t be any more outbursts from this lunatic.”
Maybe Johnson read Malley’s tension as preparation for a renewal of their one-sided struggle. Or, given how little Sazaad had endeared himself to the techs, maybe the FD looked forward to watching the scientist forced to make good on his promise. Regardless, the man lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Then he’s all yours, Dr. Sazaad, Dr. Lynn. Just keep him away from us, please?”
“Of course,” Aisha agreed, hurrying over to Malley as the FDs moved off to consult with their group, Philips turning to keep watch. Malley tossed him a casual salute.
Once safely surrounded by Aisha and her companions, Malley bent his head and asked softly: “Was I right? Was it a message?”
Sazaad smiled broadly, showing his too even, too white teeth. “Sent from my quarters, you notice.”
Aisha rolled her eyes theatrically. “Sent from wherever she could. Quick thinking, Malley.”
The stationer didn’t bother pointing out he’d likely been the only one thinking in the lab at the time. “Made sense Gail would try to get news to us if she could—and she’d need a way that Grant’s people wouldn’t be monitoring.”
Luck had played a role, Malley admitted to himself, glancing over their heads at the D-board and its ever-changing list of materials and procedures. He’d been near it when the display had flashed to Sazaad’s sequence of experiments, a red flashing bar indicating new changes being added. Since Sazaad himself had been standing in the middle of the lab, complaining about something or other, and so obviously not entering any information to the system, Malley had quietly attracted Aisha’s attention.
He’d then very noisily attracted the attention of the FDs by trying to break out the door. That had been the fun part.
“What did she say?”
“Here,” Temujin said, passing what looked to be a sequence of mathematical notations to Sazaad. “These were for you.”
Sazaad went from puffed pride to puzzled as he read. He muttered something in another language under his breath, then simply walked away from them.
“Any idea what that’s about?” Malley asked.
Aisha’s eyes sparkled. “I’d say it’s a challenge. The rest was for all of us. The situation’s as you thought, Malley. Grant’s taken control of the entire ship, locking up Gail and the Captain as well as those crew not part of his unit. Those not in here are confined to the dining lounge in the science sphere. Don’t ask me how Gail got into quarters.”
Malley shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Did she say anything about Aaron?”
“Somewhere in the science sphere. She believes Grant’s isolated his potential problems away from the command sphere—including Aaron.”
The stationer’s voice dropped an octave. “Where?”
“Any problems?” Philips asked, appearing behind Sazaad.
Malley gave him the smile that usually made Sammie bring out his antique baseball bat for insurance. “These fine people are explaining everything to me,” he told the former tech. “It’s vastly reassuring. How are the ribs?” he asked solicitously, quite sure a couple had bent, if not cracked, when Philips had gotten in his way.
“Sore,” the smaller man said bluntly, then grinned. “But still in one piece. What did you hit me with anyway?”
Malley lifted his left hand and made a loose fist. It was nearly as big as Philips’ head, and that worthy’s eyes grew round as he looked at it. “Let’s not do that again, okay?”
“Absolutely,” Malley promised. Philips gave him a very sharp look but decided not to pursue it.
Once Philips was out of earshot again, Malley asked Aisha: “So, where’s Aaron?”
“Gail didn’t know. But wherever he is, he’s safe,” she said flatly. “The FD aren’t here to harm anyone—if Aaron needed medical care, they’d bring him here. We have to concentrate on what Gail’s asked us to do.”
The stationer frowned. “Which is?” he growled suspiciously.
“Apparently we have some allies nearby,” Temujin broke in excitedly, a state he’d been in since the moment the Quill had presented their statue. “Gail wants us to contact them.”
“From here? While we’re watched?”
Temujin smiled like a child given permission to draw on the walls of his room. “Malley, you’ve no idea what we can do from in here,” he boasted, gazing around the lab with pride. “And neither does Commander Grant.”
Chapter 70
SO. Commander Grant was caught as firmly as the rest of them.
Gail found this a peculiar comfort, as if she needed to know her original estimation of the man had been right all along. Had almost dying together forged some bond between them? More likely, she reminded herself, it was her stubborn pride, insisting on trusting her own judgment of others despite evidence to the contrary.
Whichever it was, Gail walked beside Grant—preceded and followed by guards who’d only yesterday answered to her as science staff—and felt as though the universe was back in balance. Cockeyed as usual, but balanced.
Maybe it was as simple as knowing the right target.
“You don’t seem surprised we’ve had some problems in the lab,” Grant said as they approached the main door.
“You left Malley in there, didn’t you?” she said matter-offactly. “Did you really think he wouldn’t have an—opinion—to express about matters?”
A corner of Grant’s mouth rose. “There’s that. Taggart, what’s the situation?” he asked the FD standing outside the door.
Taggart gave Gail one of those “sorry, ma’am” looks she was growing accustomed to receiving from just about all of Grant’s people—as mutineers, they were strangely apologetic types—and replied: “Nominal, sir. Everyone’s getting a bit impatient, but they’re being civil about it. There was a small fracas involving the big guy . . . Malley . . . but the others have calmed him down.”
“Any injuries?” Gail asked expectantly. She was far from ready to forgive the FDs.
Taggart blushed, but stayed at attention. “Philips has three broken ribs, Dr. Smith. Johnson thinks his nose might be as well, but . . . the commander knows how sensitive Johnson is about his nose.”
“Thank you, Taggart,” Grant growled. “Open up.” Gail managed not to smile.
But she couldn’t help it when facing what amounted to a hero’s welcome in the lab. The sixty-odd people waiting for her hadn’t had a chance to celebrate what had happened on the planet’s surface: the success of the suits, the discovery of the Quill—let alone the astonishing development that the Quill might be sentient. All this, plus the suspense of being bottled up in the lab for hours had most of her staff as giddy as if they’d been drinking all night.
There was shouting and laughter as well as the odd tear—not to mention a considerable number of bad jokes at the expense of the First Defense Unit and its commander, who stood watching from the doorway with an indefinable expression. Gail found herself hugged and kissed by people who’d never so much as started a conversation with her before.
Where was Malley?
She had her answer as unmistakably massive arms swept her right off her feet and she found herself suspended
in midair. From the look on his face, the stationer was in no mood to celebrate—in fact, he looked as though he was debating with himself whether to toss her against the nearest wall or simply snap her in half.
Gail didn’t give him time to make up his mind. She wrapped her arms around Malley’s broad neck and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Then, before he could put her—or, more likely, throw her—down, she buried her face on his shoulder, as if succumbing to emotion.
It put her lips near his ear. “Aaron’s all right, Malley,” she whispered urgently. “He’s in the holding area, but we’ll have him out in a few minutes. Don’t put me down yet, you idiot—” this a hiss as Malley’s grip loosened. Obediently, he hugged her to his chest. Gail wheezed and he let go slightly. She slipped a piece of paper into his pocket.
“The military has a ship trailing us. Grant’s got an implant: a tracer, audio as well,” she hurried, knowing there wasn’t much time. “Grant had no choice but to follow FD protocol—but he’ll help us as he can. Did you get my message?”
“Yes, of course I missed you, Cupcake,” Malley said heartily, lifting her up again as if she was some prized hunk of metal he’d found. Before she could more than wince—Cupcake?—Gail found herself on the receiving end of an enthusiastic kiss.
A little too enthusiastic. Gail squirmed her way out of it, only to see the warning in Malley’s eyes. She glanced left. Loran was approaching. “Cupcake?” she spat under her breath. “Put me down.” This louder.
Malley looked unrepentant as he deposited Gail gently to the floor. “You kissed me first,” he said mildly.
Gail collected herself enough to glare at him. “I kissed everyone,” she told him. “Spirit of the moment. I’m over it.”
“Whatever you say, Dr. Smith,” Malley returned with that lazy smile, his voice rumbling at its more devastating depth. The flirting wasn’t for her benefit—Gail could read a completely different message in the tension of his shoulders and the fresh cuts on his hands. Malley’d fought once today and was hoping for more.
Gail preferred a more civilized, less messy approach. “Where’s Sazaad?” He’d been conspicuously absent from the greeting throng, a relief in a way, but worrisome in others.
“He’s at his workstation, Dr. Smith,” someone offered helpfully. The little byplay with Malley had hardly caused a ripple among the boisterous group. Gail started trying to move through them to get to Sazaad, without much success, only to have Malley use his smile and shoulder to clear her path.
“Handy,” she said.
“Practice,” he replied as they reached the side wall and could see Sazaad.
Gail didn’t waste any time. Grant would have to check on her soon or arouse suspicion. “Dr. Sazaad?”
He grunted something unintelligible, busy keying instructions into his device, then he seemed to hear her voice and turned his head only enough to squint at her. “Dr. Smith. This is a remarkable concept. But quite impossible, you know. I mean, if I had a year ...”
Gail stepped closer, Malley standing so he blocked them from the rest of the room. “If it can be done, you can do it. And we don’t have a year—we have hours, if we’re lucky. Whatever you need, whoever you need. This is priority one. My authority. Got it?”
“Nice to have you back,” Sazaad said. His black eyes gleamed. “Hours?” Abruptly, he leaped from his stool and headed for the party still underway. Gail watched the eccentric scientist long enough to be sure he was conscripting help and not joining in before turning back to face Malley.
“Aisha?”
“She and others are up there,” Malley used his eyes to indicate the second floor of the lab. “Temujin is especially happy right now.”
Gail grimaced. “That’s going to mean some repair bills. But he’ll get the job done.” Grant was heading their way. “Listen to me, Malley,” she said quickly, keeping her voice under the background noise of the crowd. “Aaron is the key to the Quill, whatever they are. The FD will want him—so will Titan. And as long as he’s in reach, there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”
Malley’s eyes were like ice. “Tell me what I don’t know.”
Gail licked her lips. “I’ve an idea. A way to get some breathing space, maybe a solution. I don’t know. But I need your help. I put a list in your pocket. Get everything that’s on it—I don’t care how—but don’t tell anyone else, even Aisha.” Gail hesitated, looking deep into his eyes. “Once you have it all, Malley, I need you to put it in the lab air lock.”
Grant was trying to give them more time, but suddenly another FD noticed their private conversation. She intercepted her commander, pointing in their direction.
“Say I do, what next?” Malley asked.
“No one goes through that air lock but me, Aaron, or you. No one. Understood? I don’t care what it takes. They’ll try.”
He looked suddenly satisfied. “Fine by me.”
“Dr. Smith, Malley,” Grant said in greeting. “I trust you are beginning to get things back in order?”
Malley reached into his pocket, and Gail froze involuntarily. Her list. More than enough to damn her in the eyes of the FD or Titan. Enough to cost her the trust of her staff and friends. She’d counted on Malley as the only one who shared her priority: Pardell’s freedom. Was she wrong?
The stationer’s hand came out with one of the candies Benton had brought with her from Mars, sour things no one else would eat. He’d probably done it to make her sweat, Gail thought with disgust. “Everything’s fine,” he said to Grant, after unwrapping the treat and popping it into his mouth with what appeared to be relish. “Sorry about bending some of your men like that. Fragile types, aren’t they?”
Grant’s eyes narrowed. “Only when ordered to be careful, Malley. I recommend you don’t try us again.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Commander,” Malley said, so cheerfully Gail could almost see the hackles rising on Grant’s neck.
Her allies. Gail kept her smile to herself. They were so transparently honest—capable of crossing her, of course, but only if she foolishly put them into conflict with their own moral priorities. Otherwise, as predictable and reliable as sunlight. She’d managed with much worse on Titan as well as Earth, where every smile hid its own agenda and alliances involved finding those whose goals were closest—or at least not directly opposed—to your own at any given moment. Trust and loyalty weren’t factors Gail usually had to consider. Or had ever relied on, until now. . . .
Not true. She shivered suddenly, remembering the station and the howl of the mob.
Trust and loyalty?
She mustn’t forget how they also got people killed.
Chapter 71
HE was the alien—the killer in the box.
Pardell rocked back and forth, trying to keep his imagination under rein. The hours alone didn’t mean the Earthers had abandoned him. The ship outside this small, bare metal room wasn’t empty or filled with the dead. The Quill inside the stasis box couldn’t harm him or anyone else.
He wouldn’t harm anyone.
They knew that. Malley and Rosalind. Grant.
Gail did.
He had killed. They knew that, too.
For the hundredth time, Pardell’s hand strayed to the lid of the box, then clenched and dropped away. Curiosity and dread, in equal proportions.
Without warning, the door swung open, slowly, as if the person on the other side feared to wake him—or feared him, Pardell added bitterly. “I’m awake,” he called out, deliberately assuming the better possibility.
And it was better. The face peering around the heavy door was Gail’s—careworn, to his worried eyes, but smiling. “Then you’d probably like breakfast,” she said.
Pardell couldn’t smile. All he could manage was to stand, holding the box. He’d forgotten how to let go of it by now. “I kept it safe for you,” he told her, knowing the Quill mattered most. “Grant’s people wanted it, but they didn’t argue. I don’t think they wanted to risk touching me. So the
y quarantined us together. I’ve kept it safe.”
“What matters is that you’re safe,” she replied, confounding his sense of priorities. “But bring the sample. There are a lot of people, including me, anxious to see what we’re dealing with at last. You’re sure you’re all right?” Gail stepped into the room, studying his face and then looking around. There wasn’t much to see, beyond the cot, blankets, and a shelf cleared of boxes so trays of untouched food could be stacked there. He hadn’t been interested. “They didn’t mistreat you—”
“Of course not,” Pardell answered quickly, though warmed by the sudden outrage in her voice. “I’m sure the commander would have given me better quarters if I’d been willing to leave the Quill here. But—”
Gail held out her hands.
Pardell immediately gave her the box, not letting go until he was sure she felt the weight of it and was ready—holding a second or two longer than necessary because it gave him a harmless connection to her. She knew. A man could drown himself in her eyes when they looked like that, Pardell decided, and consider it a worthy death. He could almost hear Malley’s voice adding: especially a fool light-headed from lack of sleep and food.
“Breakfast,” she said again, as if hearing Malley’s sensible voice as well.
Malley had quite a bit more to say, Pardell knew the moment he laid eyes on his friend again, but nothing he planned to come out with in present company. Gail had brought him directly to the lab; technically, he’d been brought by Gail and four FDs who seemed confused as to whether they were guards or escorts. Gail’s tendency to lead the way at a brisk walk, while completely ignoring them, probably didn’t help. Pardell kept his amusement to himself.
Judging by a few new scrapes on his knuckles, Malley’d been fighting, which usually had the effect of relaxing the big stationer for a couple of days at least. Unfortunately, Pardell judged, he either hadn’t fought the right person or for the right reason. As a result, Malley’s broad forehead was creased in what looked to be a permanent scowl, an intimidating expression that lightened the moment he’d seen Pardell and returned as the stationer had looked over at Gail.
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